


A Small Alteration

by Zanora



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: And I mean a slow, Because fuck fate and I was enabled, Mollymauk Tealeaf Lives, Multi, P.S. Ships will be a slow burn, over a campfire, sweet roast
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-15 10:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18496885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanora/pseuds/Zanora
Summary: We all know how his story ended.A shallow grave in the ground, like one that had confined him before. His spirit of life snuffed out to the tears of many, who watched, who prayed, who begged.Was this it?Was this how he ends?After all that life he had?Well, my friend. I’m going to tell you, a slightly different story. Sparked by one, small difference.





	1. A Different Way Of Continuing Things

**Author's Note:**

> I know. I know this has probably been done before, and will be done again, and I know that canon is going the way it is for a reason. But I just couldn't leave this alone. So, because I have two partners who are more than happy to egg me on, this is happening. And you are going to like it.

We all know how his story ended.

 

A shallow grave in the ground, like one that had confined him before. His spirit of life snuffed out to the tears of many, who watched, who prayed, who begged.

 

Was this it?

 

Was this how he ends?

 

After all that _life_ he had?

 

Well, my friend. I’m going to tell you, a slightly different story. Sparked by one, small difference.

 

Snow begins to crust on the dirt road, the line of carts with the victorious party breaching the stormy horizon, and fading away. A shattered group, a dirty man, a bloodied woman, a shaking goblin, and a kneeling dwarf. They do not watch the carts leave. They do not look to each other at all. They all stare to the side of the road.

 

They all stare, at the still body of their fallen companion.

 

The wind blows cold, small flecks of ice falling, and twisting, covering the earth beneath them. Anguished grief and anger, the woman, Beauregard, goes to reach for the Dwarf, for Keg, who stares down unresisting.

 

A groan, and the group jump at a weak call from the road.

 

“Is everyone alright?”

 

* * *

 

 

Mollymauk just felt like slapping himself when his Blood Maledict burst and he felt his consciousness fade. Honestly, this was a stupid fucking move, and he knew it, but he had to try, he had to do _something_ , he wasn’t going to just do nothing, _shut up Beauregard-_

 

A pressure to his chest and a lightning bolt of _pain_. He shouts with no air, a wheeze as the glaive of this large fucker - _fucking bastard, I’ll gut you_ – pierces through his chest, his lungs, his heart, _fuck, I don’t think-_

He doesn’t hear the words said over the blood in his ears, only feels the pressure increase, opens his eyes to stare the man down, _Lorenzo, he took Yasha, bastard_ -

 

“Any last words?” He hears, looks at the man’s smirking mug, and wants to punch it, wants to claw it, wants to… wants to…

 

He grits his teeth through the pain, gathers as much spit and blood in his mouth as he can, and spits it in Lorenzo’s face.

 

**_Fuck you._ **

****

Lorenzo nods, looks up at someone – _he can’t turn to look, there’s no time_ – and the blade twists until there’s no breath in his lungs.

 

One heartbeat… Two heartbeat… Three… Slow…

 

The glaive pulls out.

 

And his collarbone _burns._

Molly remains still, dazed, disconnected, trying to recollect himself. A thudding over his collarbone, the far-off sounds of voices and moving carts, time passes and he’s left, floating.

 

He registers a build-up of magic.

 

His soul freezes.

 

And he _jolts._

A sudden intake of breath, his lungs fragile, sore, wounded. His fingers numb – _it’s cold_ – and his chest simmering into a slight warmth. He barely registers his weak, desperate panting before trying to centre himself to focus on his chest.

 

The wound is closed. The damage has been barely repaired.

 

The Periapt of Wound Closure over his collarbone finally cools to his body temperature.

 

Mollymauk Tealeaf groans, feeling it rattle his ribcage and throat before calling out.

 

“Is everyone alright?”

 

His hoarse cry barely left his lips when several things happen:

 

His throat seizes in protest, and he splutters into coughing, curling onto his side.

 

Several footsteps, one clanging violently, rushing toward him after a 5 second pause.

 

Then voices rang out.

 

“ _Mollymauk!_ ”

 

“Fuck, Molly, you crazy _asshole-!_ ”

 

“Herr Mollymauk, breathe, stay on your side, I have a potion-”

 

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ Molly, I’m _so fucking sorry-!_ ”

 

“Here, Caleb, I have spare bandages, can we-”

 

“ – stupidest _fucking_ move, Molly, I’m gonna fucking _deck_ you when you’re healed-!”

 

“ – best not to move him yet, _mein fruend_ , we don’t know how injured he is-”

 

“ – check his chest, fuck, the glaive went _straight through-_ ”

 

“ – the stuff from the Firbolgs, he can have that, can’t he, Caleb?”

 

“To be frank, Nott,” Molly rasped, focussing on Caleb as the wizard rummaged through his own pockets, “I don’t think I can eat solids right now.”

 

Nott whimpers in sympathy, gently clasping one of his hands in a delicate hold, trying to keep her claws away. He squeezes her hand once as Beau and Keg gently pat his chest and back, taking note of his expression as he winces and flinches at certain areas until finally, Caleb kneels with them and places a hand on Molly’s stomach and another near his head.

 

“Mollymauk, I need you to sit up, you need to take this-”

 

“Absolutely not, darling, we don’t have many more-”

 

“You will not argue with me, you were nearly _killed_ a second ago-”

 

“But I’m still here, I’m alright, Caleb-”

 

**“Shut _up,_ Molly!”**

Molly’s eyes snap open at the four voices yelling at him in unison, finally taking in his friends faces.

 

Keg looked gutted. Distraught, clinging to his coat, but bearing her teeth through the fear and self-hate in her eyes. Beau is fierce, eyes red-rimmed and staring him down with fury and concern that almost tempts him to joke that she cared, but she did.

 

He could see she did.

 

Nott quakes next to him. Still holding his hand like glass, almost curled beside him, staring up at him with wet yellow eyes that plead, _beg_ him to be alright, and he almost couldn’t handle her face when he made the mistake of looking at Caleb.

 

Caleb looks almost _haunted._

 

His bright blue eyes, now glowing like flames, meet his gaze head on with no flinch, no nervousness. The wizard clutches a health potion in the hand beside Molly’s head, and he looks at Molly like he was about to disappear. Like if he blinked, he wouldn’t be there.

 

“You were almost _gone,_ Mollymauk.” Caleb mutters, eyes turbulent with unfathomable _pain_ , “We almost lost you too. More than the others.”

 

Molly looks at all these people, new companions and friends, at their faces, and…

 

_Fuck, I can’t let them down now, can I?_

Molly lets out a shaky breath and nods once. This was enough for Caleb, who pushes him onto his back, and with the help of Keg, lifts his upper body to sit upright. Molly hisses as something in his chest pulls, and Nott squeezes his hand for dear life until he has to smile at her, even when it’s pained. Keg holds him up, muscles faintly shaking from adrenaline, as Caleb pulls the cork from the bottle and brings it to Molly’s mouth.

 

Molly doesn’t hesitate to drink it.

 

The ache and wrong in his body fades, just enough for him to focus more clearly, as the potion runs its course and repairs a bit more damage than the Periapt could. His breathing comes easier, and upon finishing the bottle, he sighs deeply.

 

His eyes open, and he grins.

 

“Should have gone with the other plan.”

 

Caleb huffs and Nott snorts, both relaxing slightly. Beau looks Molly over, catches his eye, and reaches out to grab the back of his head and pull it forward. Before he reacts, she gently, _gently,_ presses their foreheads together.

 

“That was a stupid fucking move, Molly, and I would gladly punch you for it, but you living through that? Coming out alive after the shit you pulled? That’s enough for me.” Beau lets go and leans back slightly, “But you do that shit again, I will throw you into a tree.”

 

Molly chuckles weakly and taps his knuckles to her left shoulder.

 

“I don’t doubt that.”

 

There was a moment of silence, as they all settle, then Caleb shifts into a crouch, and sits down carefully.

 

“I’ll give us ten minutes to think of what to do next.” He starts, eyes focussed on the ground, “Ten minutes, then I send Frumpkin after them. I want us to decide this now, because this? This can never happen again. No half plans, no winging it. We need to make a plan, a proper one.”

 

Molly nods and sees Beau mirror him in his peripheral before she straightens. She takes a deep breath, fist clenched.

 

In a movement Molly can’t see, she grabs Keg by the coif, slamming her toward the ground. He weakly jumps, exhaustion starting to set in too much for him to react. Keg goes willingly, submitting.

 

“You think maybe telling us that Lorenzo was a high fucking magic user would have been-?” She cuts herself off, growling, “Or are you still fucking working with them?”

 

“Beauregard-” Molly and Caleb try to interject before Keg responds.

 

“I didn’t know!” Keg grimaces as she looks up at Beau, “I’m sorry.”

 

She looks to Molly, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

 

Molly clenches his jaw. He would have caught if she was omitting something, and her reaction to the entire fight was proof that she didn’t know. Still, he stared at her, searching. Looking for something, anything, that might prove otherwise.

 

Her face remained grieved.

 

“Beauregard, she would have told us.” Caleb points out, watching Beau’s fists start to shake, “She wouldn’t have been able to hide it.”

 

Beau tightens her fist on Keg, then relaxes and lets her go.  She looks at Molly, who stares back silently, then Keg starts to talk.

 

“They’re going to Shadycreek.” She starts, looking uncertainly between Beau and Molly, “They’re going to take them to the Sour Nest, that’s where they-”

 

She cuts herself off with a grimace, and Molly hums in acknowledgement before going to stand. The rest of the group jump to their feet, but Beau reaches Molly first, wrapping an arm around his back and slinging his right over her shoulders. He staggers, takes a minute to find his feet, and tilts his head toward Beau.

 

“If you could kindly help me off the road, that’d be much appreciated.” He simpers, earning an eye roll for his efforts, “Also, I resent the term asshole, doesn’t fit me as well as you.”

 

Beau actually grins, starting to walk him toward to grass off the road, “Yeah, fuck you too, asshole. I don’t owe you shit after this, alright?”

 

Molly blinks at her.

 

“Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember a moment when-”

 

“Nope, nothing.” She talks over him, pulling him along slightly faster until his foot snags a rock and he snarls.

 

She immediately sets him down, sitting next to him. He peels off his coat, grimacing at the dried blood sticking it to his skin and shirt. He brings it around to his lap, inspecting the bloody hole through the fabric that was left and frowns. He glances at his shirt and stares.

 

The fabric is torn and bloodied, but that’s not what he looks at. What was once merely a canvas of scars now had a crater, scabbed red and angry, barely healed and looking at it makes it flare slightly. It cut a line where his sternum sits and his rib cage joins in his chest, angry and wielding the promise of a place forever carved on his little memory. He closes his eyes for a moment, stomach turning at the memory of what transpired.

 

An unexpected hand on his shoulder jolts him from his unwilling trip down memory lane, prompting him to open his eyes. He spies Beau looking at the same scar, face showing a mixture of grief and horror. He catches her eye and grins weakly.

 

“Probably the ugliest one I’ve ever gotten.” He commented weakly, trying to chuckle but barely managing to avoid a monotone.

 

Beau’s hand tightens on his arm before coming down to press her fingertips around the edges of the crater. The contact doesn’t hurt, but Molly felt… exposed, in a way he didn’t particularly like. He opens his mouth.

 

“You remember that fucking story, I told you? About that couple whose lives I ruined? And the story you told?”

 

He closes his mouth instantly.

 

“I remember you saying, before, that you left every town you went through a little better than you found it.” Beau doesn’t look at him, eyes on her hand, “My knee-jerk reaction was that you were an arrogant, narcissistic bastard, because who can tell that? Who can fucking know that?”

 

She glances at him with a grimly amused expression, “But then, you told that fucking story. And I thought about all the shit I see you do. And you were fucking right. Which I hate so fucking much, but I’m big enough to say that, so hah.”

 

Molly automatically huffs a laugh, not blinking as he stares at her. He wasn’t quite sure how to take this, this honesty from someone who he knew was a nuisance, and a trouble magnet, and surprisingly really fucking sincere, did Fjord teach her that?

 

She gives him a ‘really?’ look, and he shrugs off the surprise that he said that out loud, holding his hands up in surrender. She gracelessly collapses on her backside, still not looking at him as she pulls her hand away.

 

“You make people feel good, feel… _special_. You, I don’t fucking know, even in your scams you still make things better for people when all I’ve done is, is _ruin_ people because I feel like it, and it’s all I know!” She huffs something resembling a sob and Molly looks at the ground while reaching forward to rest a hand on her ankle.

 

“I realised, that if I can leave a town, _shittier_ , then when I found it, of course you can leave it fucking better. And I don’t want to do that again.” He glances up at her quickly, and she hold a hand up, “I’m not… saying that, I’m gonna go off and, and be a fucking hero, but maybe, we can at least equal out, and I can at least not fuck any more shit up.”

 

She leans forward and looks away, “Take baby steps, toward the leaving the town better… thing.”

 

Molly leans back, takes a breath for a moment, and stares at the sky.

 

“You know, Beau, you already do more than you use to. Within the group, at least.”

 

When Beau looks at him from his peripheral, he sighs and looks back.

 

“I do have eyes, Beauregard, and I am constantly watching you all for entertainment. I’ve seen you, helping Jester, talking to Fjord, connecting to _Caleb_ , of all people. You were the first one to think of leaving Kiri with the Schusters, and you’re doing pretty damn well at talking without your fists.”

 

Beau makes a face, and Molly laughs, waving her off.

 

“My thing is completely different from yours, jot that down first. We’re very different people, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. If you want to, to take on board some of the shit I think when it comes to pleasing people, you can ask. My ears always available, with minimum mockery, if you prefer.” She makes another face and he snickers, “Not pleasing people sexually, though, my secrets are mine, get your own.”

 

Beau belts out one ‘ha!’ before looking at him again.

 

“Long may he reign, right?”

 

Molly cackles, clapping his hands in approval.

 

“Long may I reign, indeed!”


	2. Talking Shop

“This is pointless.”

 

Molly narrows his eyes a bit but doesn’t otherwise react, continuing to stitch his shirt back together with the weaving kit he kept on him.

 

“What?” Nott pipes up from where she sits beside Caleb as they all rested for a while to plan, “What is pointless?”

 

“They’re even more powerful than I remember.” Keg continues, aiming a thousand-yard stare north, toward Shadycreek Run, “I didn’t even know Lorenzo could do that.”

 

Molly shifts enough to glare toward her and she returns it.

 

“You saw what he did, there’s no way! It’s fucked!”

 

She raises her voice only a little, but Molly still flinches. He feels more than sees his friends bristle and speaks quietly, with a hint of steel.

 

“I know what we saw. If you remember correctly, I was on the receiving end.” At Keg’s flinch, he puts his shirt down for a moment to talk.

 

“You may be right, you may be wrong. They’ve still got our friends hauled to their base, so we’re going to do this, but better. Caleb was right, before.” Molly sees Caleb straighten and tilts his head slightly to peek over a horn at him, “No winging it, no ‘here’s hoping’ plans. We need to fight these guys differently to get to the others.”

 

“I think he’s fucking right.” There’s a strength to Beau’s voice that reaches everyone’s ears now, “Remind me, how long have you been separated from these fucking assholes?”  

 

Keg sighs, a long, tired sound.

 

“Maybe a month, I don’t know.”

 

Molly starts sewing again, keeping his fingers away from the needle. They had all gathered a few feet off the road where Molly and Beau sat after a few minutes, taking some time to make plans and prepare themselves for the continuation of their journey. Everyone stayed close to each other, keeping the horses still near the hill in eyesight. Molly couldn’t tell if it was just that, or…

 

He takes note, in his peripheral, of Caleb and Nott glancing at him periodically, of Beau brushing against his left shoulder every so often, and of Keg, flinching when he looks vaguely in her direction before refocusing on his nearly-repaired shirt.

 

He’s got some work ahead.

 

“They learned to do that in a month?” Nott and Beau chimed together, voices both sceptical and hysterical.

 

There’s a moment of quiet as Keg pinches the bridge of her nose between her forefinger and thumb, and Molly silently slips his shirt on and pulls his coat onto his lap.

 

“That’s not a lot of time to…” Beau trails off, eyebrows furrowed. Molly absently pats her knee as he ties the needle with his teeth and begins to sew.

 

“They didn’t, they didn’t show me much.” Keg rasps, a humourless grin on her face, “I’m clearly not very fucking bright, so there’s a lot I probably didn’t pick up on, but…”

 

She shakes her head, pulling a cigarette from her pouch and lighting it.

 

“I’m realising I don’t fucking know anything about them.”

 

Molly twitches slightly at the memory of a little dwarf girl that suddenly resonated with that as Caleb speaks up.

 

“How many people are in their camp, er, what did you call it?”

 

“The Sour Nest is where the Iron Shepherds have camp.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“But, I mean,” Keg rolls her shoulders, “Shadycreek Run is… It’s a full city.”

 

“Sure.” Caleb firmly pushes, “What about the Sour Nest?”

 

Keg looks toward the sky briefly, before looking at him.

 

“I thought there were just five, I mean; I don’t know who those other two were, I…” Keg lets out a harsh breath before belting out, “I don’t know! Everything I thought I knew about them-!”

 

She cuts herself off, simmering down to a submissive stance.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“That’s not fucking helpful, though.” Beau mutters, and Keg leaps to her feet in rage.

 

“What the fuck do you want from me, then?!”

 

Caleb stands and steps between them, holding his hands to placate them and break eye contact. Molly, who was tensed to stand before Caleb moved, eases back again, his grip on his coat loosening. The hole repaired, and the blood filed away as a future problem when they reach water, he slips it on again. He rifles into his Tarot pocket. Tarot cards in hand, he shuffles them, allowing his mind to blank as he goes through the motions. Twirling them, shifting hands, cutting them to get the full effect.

 

He draws three.

 

The Tower reversed, Seven of Swords reversed, Temperance.

 

He shuffles them back in and replaces the deck in his pocket.

 

“What do we want to do?”

 

The slow, sighed mumble Caleb let out sinks into the silence. Keg sits back down. Beau looks to the grass. Nott looks between all of them, eyes assessing.

 

Molly sighs through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment.

 

Seven of Swords reversed. Temperance.

 

“We can’t rush into this. And while I understand knowing nothing, we can’t pull that again. So, we need to go another way.” He opens his eyes to the other four staring at him.

 

“If we don’t have the information, we get it somehow. There has to be, a rival group, an informant, mercenaries. We can’t attack immediately, so we use what time we can to make friends. Grease a few palms. Gold can’t keep you alive in a fight, but it can loosen some lips and earn extra hands.” Molly looks at Keg, whose stature straightens, “You’d probably know, wouldn’t you? Any rivals the Iron Shepherds have?”

 

Keg blinks, looks down. Her face twists in thought. Nott wrings her clawed hands together before looking between Caleb and Molly.

 

“We… we can’t fight them.” Her voice shakes, and Molly can’t help the flare of betrayal in his gut when Beau turns toward their rogue.

 

“Did you just fucking forget that they took Yasha?” She hissed, eyes wild, “They took Fjord! They took Jester!”

 

“That is what we’re planning to fix.” The mutter from Caleb is harsh, but the glance he gives Beauregard as he gestures her down is gentle before he turns to Nott.

 

“Those three are not dead, not yet. We have invested a lot of time into forging this alliance, Nott. We”, he looks to Molly, who stands and nods, “are not proposing a head-to-head confrontation. Maybe.”

 

The wizard’s arms drop, but his shoulders tense when his gaze flicks to Keg.

 

“I want to know where they are, I want to know what conditions they’re in.” He turns his head to Molly.

 

“I’m not willing to walk away from this.”

 

Molly softens. His fingers itch to reach for the Zemnian, but his knowledge of Caleb’s aversion to touch stays his hand. Instead, he inclines his head in approval, and Caleb returns the gesture. Beau slowly stands and walks to the man’s left, attention on Caleb as Nott continues.

 

“It would be the smarter bet.”

 

Keg mutters a “She’s not wrong”, moments before Beau clenches her jaw and spits out “Fuck you both.”

 

Molly walks behind Caleb, barely brushing an arm against his back as he moves to stand beside Beau and lay a slow hand on her right shoulder. His tail briefly curls around the Wizards ankle as he walks by, and Caleb shifts his weight to that foot.

 

“We could live, sure. We could live.” Caleb responds to Nott, briefly acknowledging Molly moving with a glance, “We go hide in the woods. Go back to picking pockets and pulling scams on people.”

 

He shakes his head without breaking eye contact with her.

 

“You know that I want more than that.”

 

The stand-off between Nott and Caleb was charged. An atmosphere of slow grief and frustration bubbled out of them both. Molly couldn’t take it.

 

“You can’t give up when the road gets bumpy or lost. That’s not going to help you. The choice _is_ yours, Nott. You _can_ go back to what you had before. You always have that choice of going back. But do you really want that? After everything we’ve done as a group?”

 

When Nott shifts her weight, he squeezes Beau’s shoulder and steps up to Caleb’s right side.

 

“People don’t get better, or stronger, or any closer to what they want if they go back. You know my feelings on the past, and from what I’ve seen, dwelling on it doesn’t help you. You go forward, because the world doesn’t wait for you to pull your shit together, and neither does what you want.” Molly waits until her eyes meet his before continuing, “Think about what you want, Nott. Think about what you have, what you’ve gained. Would any of that have happened if you stayed where you were?”

 

Nott tries to narrow her eyes at him, tries to bare her teeth, but the effort isn’t strong enough, and her gaze falls to the dirt. Molly glances at Caleb, who can’t bring himself to look at Nott, and slowly lifts a hand to clasp a bit of his coat sleeve between a forefinger and thumb. Caleb’s eyes flick to his hand, flick to his face. Molly puts as much of an apology as he can in his gaze.

 

Caleb sighs and brushes his fingertips against Molly’s elbow before looking away.

 

Molly takes that as the signal to let go.

 

“We have to move forward. We have to get better, get closer to who we wanna be. I wanna, start fucking doing better, stop fucking shit up for everyone.” Beau steps up to Caleb’s right, looks at Keg, “And I’m starting with these fucking assholes.”

 

Keg rises, face grimly determined.

 

“I’ll take you there.”

 

* * *

 

 

The snow wasn’t heavy still, but the grey clouds had begun to darken with the promise of a storm, and only Nott was dressed for the cold weather ahead. The chill nipped at Molly’s exposed skin and he shivered hard enough for his lungs to twinge. He could withstand fire, but not the cold. And his injury wasn’t quite gone enough to warrant him full health.

 

They pack up their small camp, tension high and silence heavy. Caleb and Nott separate themselves in their packing, and Keg stands to the side throughout the process. Beau sneaks glances at them all and makes a vaguely worried expression at Molly, who purses his lips and shakes his head slightly at her. They couldn’t deal with it immediately, they were on a time limit, and it would need a bit of finesse with these ones. One wrong prod and they’ll clam up worse.

 

“Keg, no judgement or anything, but you sort of froze up in the little fight we had.”

 

Nott’s words pierced the atmosphere with the subtlety of an explosion. Molly froze in place a bit as he packed the last of his stuff, the memory of it making the new wound ache. He turns his head enough to see Keg’s grimace.

 

“Yeah.” Keg rasped.

 

“When you say, you can take us there, are you just talking about taking us there and dropping us off?”

 

Keg sighs through the nose.

 

“I’ll take you there, I’ll help you through.” Her gaze flicks to Molly’s watching eyes, “I’ll do what I can.”

 

He gets a good look at the guilt there before Nott pipes up again.

 

“How do we know you won’t freeze up again?”

 

“Or cut and run, like you said.”

 

Molly winced at Beau’s barbed comment, looking to Caleb. The wizard kept his eyes averted, but was paying attention. Keg looked between them, then looked at Molly.

 

“Molly.” She answers, and the tiefling flinched.

 

“I had a friend like you once… just one.” She watched him carefully, the shame apparent, “They killed him, and I ran then, too. I left him behind; he’s the reason I’m here. I didn’t think I would do it again, but I did, I fucking froze up.”

 

Keg huffs a wet breath, but keeps her gaze steady to his.

 

“What you said before, about moving forward and, and doing better…” A pause, then, “I can’t promise it, but I promise that I will… I’ll try. My life isn’t shit, it’s never been. It’s kind of the shit, about meeting people that are _actually_ kind, is that you realise what a fucking _nightmare_ your life’s been before.”

 

Molly just stares. There’s a sense of discomfort at all this, this… awe? All these compliments? He tilts his head slightly and shifts his weight, tail encircling his legs and ears pinned back. A half-formed thought flickers in his mind, an amusement toward something like, how different it was to have people speak of what you do directly to you. He shakes the discomfort after a moment, letting himself settle.

 

_Take the words you hear to mind. Take the truth of what you hear to heart._

Molly barely had time to register that thought when Beau softly chimed in.

 

“It’s funny how the good people make assholes like us feel so small.”

 

Molly looks between them both, tries to express sincere gratitude in his expression for a moment at each. Then he smirks.

 

“You bet I make you feel small.”

 

Coupled with an eyebrow wiggle and a flick of a tail.

 

Beau groans.

 

Keg gives a pitiful smile, but a smile all the same.

 

Molly looks at her carefully, dropping the smirk.

 

“If you promise to try, that’s enough for me. And whatever you did to save us? Thanks. I’d be dead if you didn’t. There’s no need for an apology for that.”

 

Keg reels back slightly, smile dropping for a moment, then reigniting genuinely.

 

“Now then!” Molly claps, getting everyone in the group to jump and look at him, “Are we good to go?”

 

He looks to Caleb who blinks rapidly after the sudden startle, and watches as the man turns to Keg.

 

“You can get us there?”

 

Keg nods.

 

“I can get you there.”

 

“And did you think on Mollymauk’s idea?” Caleb insists, “This does not have to be a frontal assault, we don’t need to throw our lives away.”

 

“We can’t fight them!” The scratchy voice of Nott interjects, and the atmosphere sours.

 

Nott stands from where she was seated packing her things, moving toward Caleb while repeating herself. Beau rears back, ready to yell, and Molly gets ready to leap toward her as Caleb and Nott lock eyes.

 

“Look, here’s the thing about Shadycreek Run.” Keg interrupts the brewing argument, voice raised, “It is a lawless town. If you guys have the coin, then people will fight for you. There isn’t a lot of honour there, but Molly’s right, there are people that are willing if they’re incentivized. So, there might be people we can gather, maybe at least get intel, there might be ways of breaking them out, I don’t know.”

 

Keg steps in the middle of them with quick strides, “There are people there who hate the Iron Shepherds, and there a lot of fucking people there that are scared of them! It is a long shot, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to call it a suicide mission, but if you want to do it, if you wanna go after them, they don’t run the town. There are people that could be swayed. But you’re gonna need money.”

 

The group relaxes slightly, looking at each other. Molly catches both Caleb and Beau’s eyes, and pats his money pouch.

 

“I think between all of us,” his eyes rove over them to Nott, “we can work something out.”

 

Nott watches the movement, conflicted, but Caleb and Beau nod. After a brief second interval, she relents, patting her pouch as well. Molly gives her a fanged smile, and she looks away. When he looks back toward Beau and Caleb, Caleb grimaces. Molly shakes his head, a tired smile on his face as he reaches up to rub gently at his new trophy.

 

It ached fiercely.

 

“I don’t mean to rush you guys,” Keg grunts, picking up her things, “But things will get way worse for your friends when they get to the Sour Nest.”

 

There’s a rush of movement as the four remaining members of the Mighty Nein grabbed their possessions, and Molly hears a conversation between Caleb and Nott as he seals his pack together. He slows, ears perked.

 

“We’re going after them?”

 

“Well, we do not have to decide what we are going to do right away. We could have an opportunity, grab our friends. We don’t need to rush into the lion’s den.” Caleb’s voice is low and tired, “Let’s see what we are looking at, what we are dealing with. We get our three friends back.”

 

There’s a moment that Molly sees him lean closer to Nott, “We have not travelled with them this far to throw it away.”

 

“To throw what away?” Nott questions, eyes searching, “I want to hear you say it. Why do you want to go after them?”

 

Molly’s done at this point, but remains crouched. He takes note of Beau in the same position as him, and a quick glance toward Keg gives him a view of her back, but her head tilts toward the two whispering.

 

There’s several beats of quiet before Caleb speaks.

 

“Their deaths would be a waste.”

 

Molly senses a deflection there.

 

“Wrong.” Nott calls him out immediately, and when Molly looks, she’s leaned in toward her companion, eyes filled with a sense of patient imploring, “Why?”

 

When Caleb turn enough for his face to be visible, there’s a struggle there. His face twists as he looks at Nott, mouth quivering for a moment before setting into a firm frown. Molly watches his eyes narrow, jaw clench, and the wizard stands with his pack and storms toward the horses, away from their prying eyes. Molly watches him go, looks to Beau for a moment, then rises to his feet.

 

Beau looks from him to Keg. Seeing a plan in her gaze, he walks past her, briefly resting a hand on her right shoulder as he moves past. He hears her grunt, then call to Keg before he steps out of earshot.

 

Molly doesn’t quite know if Caleb’s up for company, but maybe a few minutes to let the man talk a bit? _No_ , he shakes his head, _that won’t work._ He knows that Caleb doesn’t talk about his inner thoughts to any of them but Nott when it comes to certain topics. And from the feel of that conversation back there, this one might be a potential tripwire. He hasn’t gotten quite a solid read on the man yet, and its unstable ground.

 

He recalls his previous move toward the wizard, under the assumption that he was squirrelling away more than he said he’d found. When he’d heard Jester later, talking about Caleb giving some to her willingly, he knew he’d made a bad move. The man can be manipulative, can play the conman Molly thought he was at first. But there are some actions that don’t quite match up. He contemplates that maybe the man doesn’t quite know how to act around others entirely, as proven on many occasion such as the Calianna bowl incident, but that doesn’t quite fit either.

 

He absently thumbs the hilt of Summer’s Dance. Maybe this was a gesture of friendship in a way the man knew? Was it a peace offering? Or maybe the man was just being tactical?

 

Molly gets the idea thinking too hard on it will get him nowhere.

 

As he walks along, lost in thought, he almost runs into the subject of his thoughts, stopped in the middle of the clearing. When Caleb spins, a hand crackling with flame, Molly jumps back, hands up until the fire flickers and dies. They both take a breath.

 

“Now what in the Gods name was that for?” He gripes.

 

Caleb gives an ‘uh’, and looks back toward the horses uncertainly. When Molly follows his gaze, he sees the problem.

 

There’s a new horse, standing with the others.

 

He blinks. Looks at Caleb. Meets Caleb’s bewildered stare. They both look back.

 

The horse is watching them both now, eyes keen with an intelligence Molly squints at. Its brown fur was clean and shiny, no bridle, or saddle. It stands still and alone. When Molly quickly looks around, there’s no sign of anyone else.

 

“That’s… not normal.” He mumbles, with an agreeing hum from Caleb.

 

The wizard steps forward toward it, Molly trailing behind. The horse matches every step, moving closer toward them. Molly’s hand goes to his normal scimitar hilt.

 

“Oh.” Caleb takes this in, uncertain, “Who are you, _Freund_?”

 

As they both reach ten feet from it, Molly watches as it’s form suddenly… shifts. The shoulders roll back and broaden, front feet leaving the ground and head retreating into its torso. Caleb steps back and Molly throws an arm forward in front of him, one hand on the hilt of his weapon, but not drawing it. The… _creature_ rises, and lengthens, fur shifting and hooves being replaces with thick hands as its height _towers_ over them both.

 

Molly’s eyes widen at the newcomer before him.

 

_Well, that’s one hell of a way to make an entrance._


End file.
